


A Fantastic Friend is Hard to Find

by pinchess07, SoupShue



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Asexual Newt Scamander, Awkward PenPals, Crying is Cathartic, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, He is going to open SUCH a big can of whoop-ass, If Percival ever finds out who hurt Newt so badly, Just Friends, Male Friendship, Men Crying, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Protective Original Percival Graves, Real Men Cry Okay?, Real Men also hug, adults being adults and Using Their Words, letter writing, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-09-14 18:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9198440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinchess07/pseuds/pinchess07, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoupShue/pseuds/SoupShue
Summary: Percival's just trying to get to know his best friend Theseus's little brother, eat some dinner in public without feeling like he's going to snap, and maybe get a signed copy of Newt's new book while he's at it. Newt's had quite a few adventures recently, not counting his last visit to the city. Percival was *previously engaged* (locked in a cellar) for most of Newt's last visit to New York, and he just wants to have some engaging conversation that has nothing to do with what happened *before* because it ruins his appetite. Newt really has a hard time understanding that Percival Just wants dinner and some company. So he keeps asking.This is Percival Grave's perspective of the events in pinchess07's work "You're More Than Enough" (found Here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9134149 ) who is aware I wrote this and looked it over for me. I would suggest checking that out first, but fair warning: it will punch you straight in the feels. Some dialogue is taken from pinchess07's work to use here, with permission and blessing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinchess07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinchess07/gifts).
  * Inspired by [You're More Than Enough](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9134149) by [pinchess07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinchess07/pseuds/pinchess07). 



> Thank you and a thousand thank you's to pinchess07 for graciously allowing me to write a response, and for looking over my work. You should check pinchess07 out, for realizes.

Percival viciously shoved down Auror Graves with every ounce of his willpower, now is not the time for an inquisition. He resists the urge to grind his teeth and shout about the cruelty of the world. Percival Graves is a mature adult, a decorated Auror for MACUSA, Picquery’s right hand, he firmly reminds himself of this amid the impressive swearing he is also spewing inside the comfort of his own mind. As a mature wizard he will not grab Newt by the jacket, shake him and demand the names of the absolute idiots who’ve hurt Newt so badly- they’re most likely outside his jurisdiction anyway. Instead he bites his lip and forces himself to stay relaxed and calm, projecting a lighthearted and friendly air as he watches the poor man in front of him stutter and wilt, folding in on himself, shoulders hunching and chest caving inwards like he could shrink or turn invisible, like he’s bracing to be hit.

Newt’s actually shaking, the tails of that beautiful royal blue coat trembling with the motion of his body. His posture is rigid and carefully held motionless as he looks anywhere but at Percival. It’s a physical pain, a punch to the gut and a burn in his chest to watch. All of this because he asked Newt to dinner- all this panic and fear for a friendly invitation. There’s little reason for Newt to be so openly terrified of him in this moment when he knows for certain he’s talking to the true Percival Graves and not the GrindleGraves imposter. Percy could truly understand nervousness- GrindleGraves had sentenced Newt to death after all. This isn’t nerves though, this is downright panic, and Newt had been doing just fine before the dinner invitation came up.

 Graves almost feels like he knows Newt already even though they haven’t really talked much since he was rescued from the awful cesspool Grindlewald had stashed him in. Theseus has been corresponding with him diligently for years since their rambunctious school days, even during the war and he enjoyed each and every fond and exasperated tale that Theseus included about his little brother. There’s even more to talk about and be interested in when it comes to the younger man before him; the creatures in his ridiculous case, his duel in the subway with Grindlewald, his adventures around the world fighting for the rights and welfare of magical creatures almost nobody else is willing to care about, his studies of obscurials. Newt Scamander does not lead a boring life that is for certain.

“…Just dinner right?” Oh sweet serpents! Now he really, REALLY wants to hurt somebody for this. Percy can’t help but try and unpack that question and every possibility his mind unearths makes him feel ill. He carefully clutches at his own wrists behind his back in a white knuckled grip to keep from engulfing Newt in the tightest most protective hug he can muster, Newt looks like he’s about to faint or vomit or perhaps apparate on the spot at any moment and the last thing Percival wants is to scare him any further- he’s doing quite a fine job of that himself. He does not growl vehement demands for retribution- he does begin thinking of very creative ways to punish whichever witch or wizard made Newt so damn scared of social interaction. Instead of his habitual severe, militant work stance his posture is languid and open with relaxed arms at a proper distance away for personal conversation. Percival does nothing to betray the violently roiling anger and pain for Newt that is bubbling just below the surface. His tone is perfectly polite. He keeps his voice soft, even and reasonable as he replies to that tremulous question Newt forced past lips that are drained of color.

“Yes Newt.” He’s shocked and pleasantly surprised when Newt agrees to dinner, but he doesn’t pounce on the poor man like he wishes he could, instead they arrange a time and a place to meet like adults do. To anyone listening it’s all perfectly normal, casual interaction; two people arranging time together. To anyone listening, everything about this conversation is going just fine. It isn’t fine. There is nothing fine about this. All Percival Graves, master Auror can do is hope Newt arrives for dinner and he gets a chance to prove to Newt that he’s not going to hurt him. He’s got to fight that sickeningly awful first impression that GrindleGraves gave Scamander the younger, he’s got to pray that the deep and hidden courage inside of Newt will hold strong. It’s not fine, but Percival hopes he can begin to change that. Hopes that one day it will be. And Better.

~~**~~**~~

Newt rambles when he’s nervous. He spins himself along tales and topics, weaves words like tapestries, and makes connections between subjects that hardly seem related at first consideration. Percival loves the way that Newt can nudge and poke at facts and conjecture and opinion and make a new perspective suddenly burst into bloom like an exotic flower. When he warms up to a subject he is particularly passionate about he gets a fey little glimmer in his eyes. That glimmer blossoms to full on sparkle with humor and merriment, and then flares to dancing flame when Newt talks about any mischief or mayhem. Newt burns with a fierce inner light, he is full of drive and devotion and overflowing with determination. Percival is enraptured, utterly captivated, spellbound. He loves watching pleasant shock and wonder dawn over Newt’s face whenever he asks a question. The poor man has been cruelly deprived of engaged and thoughtful attention, denied meaningful conversation.

“…and so you see, when the Japanese started cultivating bonsai, the bowtruckles in that region began to be seen as spirits- thankfully they’re considered benevolent servants of the ancestors and are honored and worshipped. There’s also a fascinating sub-species of bowtruckle found only in Japan which inhabits bonsai trees, they’re much smaller and nimbler than even a standard sized bowtruckle and what’s absolutely MARVELOUS about them is…” Newt murmured, gesturing with his fork before he cut himself off by shoving a bite of mashed potatoes into his mouth. Pickett was also enamored with Newt’s conversation, small leafy antennae waving as he peeked out from underneath Newt’s lapel.    

Percival is enjoying their time together far more than he even thought he would. There are some juicy new stories about Theseus that he cannot wait to rib his friend about in his next letter. (“Theseus, bless him, was so smashed by the end that he careened wildly over the meadow losing altitude all the while, smacked a few trees on the way down and then then he crashed full tilt into the roof of the barn! Trouble was, it was one of the thatch buildings and he ended up face first in a pile of manure bare as the day he was born surrounded by ornery cows!”)  Percival could have told him that firewhiskey and flying never mix well.

He can feel relaxation course through him with every word that pours out of Newt’s mouth. Every detailed description of niffler hoarding instincts (“anything shiny I swear, I found him trying to brood the occamy eggs in his pouch so many times…”), the care of a bowtruckle tree habitat (“Really, you have to have enough water, but the main issue is sunlight and appropriate ventilation, trees take most of their sustenance from the atmosphere you know. Bowtruckles detest undernourished trees, that’s one reason the Japanese are doing so well…”), the merits of one cockroach species over another for enticing an occamy (“…when we were in Australia, this female _Polyzosteria mitchelli_ which are quite beautiful, but they have toxins- sprayed one of them full in the face, let me tell you THAT was an interesting afternoon, I didn’t even have to convince him to go back to the case, he flew right in shrieking! Took me weeks to calm him down and…”) help to push the memories of his time spent in captivity further and further away.  

This is the most Percival’s laughed in a long time, even before his ~~enslavement~~ captivity, it had taken a lot to get him to relax enough to openly, genuinely laugh. After…well it was a lot harder. Newt has a way of startling the laughter out of Percival, easy and light and so refreshing that he finds himself not wanting dinner to end at all even though he knows it must. MACUSA has a terrible gossip mill as it is, it would not do to make either of them even more palatable as targets than they already are. 

An Auror’s life depends on keen observation, obsessive preparation, sharp instincts, and at least a basic understanding of behavior. MACUSA’s distaste for that fact and outright refusal to train Aurors to recognize behavior is a huge part of why he was able to be impersonated by Grindlewald for so damn long in the first place. He’d been petitioning for changes in training practices long before his capture and the reality of such a widespread core failure, one he had been warning the higher-ups about since his promotion, is more than a little upsetting. Picquery’s apology and scrambling promises and slow half-hearted move to change the procedures after the fact, however sincere, had felt-still feels-hollow and cold.

Percival is observant, and he can tell that Newt still isn’t comfortable with him or with their surroundings. It’s in the stiff way Newt holds himself in the chair, the quick darting sweeps he makes over the room out of the corners of his eyes, the tight breathy quaver in his voice, a sheen of sweat that dots his upper lip, the sometimes lengthy delay between question and answer, the fidgety movements he makes with his hands as he talks in between bites of his meal. He still won’t look at Percival full on, let alone meet his eyes. Is still calling him “Mr. Graves.” Newt’s nervous, so is Percival a little, but that doesn’t seem to matter right at this moment.

They’re both stunned to realize they’ve cleaned their plates without really tasting the food. Neither entirely sure how much time has truly passed. Lost in a bubble, a world where only the two of them existed. Their reactions to this jarring return to reality could not be more different. Where Percival is pleasantly surprised by the development, Newt’s face takes on a garish pale sickly green tint and he stares off into space over Percival’s left shoulder with a peculiar and slightly disturbed look on his face.

“Newt, are you alright? Was it something you ate?” Newt either ignores or cannot hear his inquiry. He gives it a few moments before he tries again, pitching his voice a little lower, injecting a bit more urgency into his tone.

“Newt?” He startles and stammers and swallows convulsively like he’s not sure his dinner is going to stay where he put it.

"I apologize, Mister Graves! I was merely surprised to notice that the food is gone. I completely missed your question," Newt confesses, gaze skittering away from the man across the table.               

"Yes, you're right," Percival agrees readily, softly, glancing down at the table to give himself time to hide the expression on his face, "It is surprising. I've eaten everything on my plate without noticing. That's the first time in weeks, and I can't even tell you what it tasted like." Newt’s amazing, he might be different, he might view the world from a completely different angle, but that only makes his insight all the more important. It’s abundantly clear to Percival that Newt’s been treated very unfairly by too many people for far, far too long. Imagining all the ways they will suffer horribly if he ever finds out who they are is going to be one of his favorite pass times.  Right now he’s more concerned about getting Newt to agree to do this again without completely panicking him.

He’s waffling about the approach when he suddenly realizes exactly what will work. He leans in toward Newt over the table dipping his head a little to make sure that Newt’s got the slightly higher position. He doesn’t want to loom, he’s trying to entice. It works, almost like there are magnets attached to Newt’s torso, he leans in, his whole frame relaxing a bit entirely subconsciously as he registers Percy’s movements.

"We should do this again some other time. I really enjoyed your company tonight, Newt," Percy murmurs in to the scant space between them. Trying to keep his voice soft and casually intimate, friendly trying to get Newt to relax. Color rushes over Newt’s face until he’s glowing with it. He’s quiet for a moment and Percival is afraid that he’s somehow pushed the poor man over the edge, said the wrong thing, somehow revealed how angry and hurt he is on Newt’s behalf, accidently pulled out the Auror he tries so hard to dial back when he’s off duty.             

"I'd like that," Newt offers shyly. Percy can’t help but beam at him in excitement and relief _._

_~~**~~**~~_

It’s Newt’s behavior as they’re about to part ways outside the restaurant that suddenly has pieces falling into place for Percy. He’s going to floo Theseus tonight and ask some very pointed questions. Newt’s edged away from him, his body turned to give Percy a side-on target, and he’s eyeing Percy closely like he is expecting something unpleasant to happen, he’s reacting to every twitch and sway of Percy’s body, flinching slightly.

The energy pouring off Newt makes him want to ask if the man has ever in his entire life had any friends besides his brother. Percy has a sneaking suspicion that the answer to that question is “no.” Suspects that Newt honestly believes this dinner was some sort of date, a set up designed to lead to more. Percy’s afraid to ask- he knows if his suspicions are correct his asking of the question will have Newt apparating back to England before he can speak five words, and if not then Newt will latch onto it as proof that there is a possibility that Percy wants to know him romantically. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

Percival Graves is a warm blooded male, it’s true. But he doesn’t desire Newt sexually- he never would. Percival Graves has loved many people in many different ways over his lifetime. He has felt the hot fires of lust and the warm glow of affection, been swept up in waves of comradery, enfolded in the loving embrace of friendship and family, Percy has loved many people in his lifetime. But Percival Graves has only ever had the desire to take women to bed, and even that desire has been rare for him- it was a sore point in his younger days when his peers and friends seemed to be bedding a different woman every other week. Percy wants to be Newt’s friend, a good friend, a fast friend. Just a friend. He wants a similar type of friendship with Newt as he has with Theseus, the kind that stays strong and grows deeper over the years. He wants to experience a friendship full of mutual affection and enjoyment and excitement, and yes, love. However, he will never want romantic love from or experience lust for Newt Scamander, the mere thought is actually a little sickening.

Newt’s face suddenly drains of color. Whatever he’s mulling over in his brilliant brain just turned sour so Percy blurts words out before he can run away from whatever just darkened his imagination.    

"Are you free next Sunday?" Newt’s head snaps up and for the first time he looks straight at Percy, his entire body is pulled in lines of alert attention. So Percy stands still and waits, breathing slowly and evenly and keeping as calm and relaxed as he can. If he so much as blinks the wrong way before Newt’s gotten his thoughts put back together, he knows Newt will flee. After a few moments of this, Newt’s posture shifts slightly, the barest softening across his shoulders as he settles once more.   

"No... I should be free, save from emergencies," Newt says, the words dragging out of him as he stares up at Percy looking for all the world like he is about to be attacked. It’s not going to happen. Even discounting his status as a high ranking Auror and the code of conduct that brings with it, Percy is a gentleman raised with proper manners- even if their evening had gone terribly, he’s not the sort of person to accost people on the street. Now’s not the time to try and convince Newt though. Percy smiles softly at the Brit standing across from him before he says simply,

"Then I'll see you here on Sunday, at the same time. I do hope you'll consider us friends and call me by my name." He watches Newt relax even further, his posture less defensive than before even if it’s only by minute degrees. That charming wash of color creeps up Newt’s neck, races across his face, and burns bright at the tips of his ears as he nods a few times before he stammers                 

"I'm... I'm looking forward to it, Percival." Percy nods in return, hoping one day soon he can truly call Newt friend. Hoping one day Newt will believe Percy is a friend in return. One day Newt may even truly relax around him enough to shake hands with or hug the younger man. He grips the sides of his coat to remind himself that today is not that day, forcing himself to turn away from Newt and apparate home before a barrage of personal questions inappropriate for public fly out of his mouth.

~~**~~**~~

“Auror Graves, I cannot believe I have to remind you of the rumor mill.” Picquery bites from behind her desk as soon as Percival shuts her office door, “really it is not a good time for you to be seen publicly fraternizing almost nightly with so controversial a figure as Mr. Scamander. Not so soon after the…other incident. MACUSA cannot afford such scandal.” There is silence in the room for several seconds after that statement as Percival processes. Then there is nothing but exasperated anger.  

Percival grinds his teeth and has to viciously remind himself not to scream at his boss, not to lay hands on her, not to curse her reflexively for such a horrible insinuation. He is a better man than that, he is a wizard of honor, and he will not stoop so low. She was best friends with him in their early days at MACUSA, they were very nearly more than friends a long time ago before she decided to take the path to Presidency. She used to tease him alongside all the other rookie Aurors about his disastrous dates back when she was still Phee and he was still Perce, back when she listened to what he had to say. She knows better than to insult him in such a way. Or she did.  

“I beg your pardon Madame President?” He enunciates each syllable, his tone exact and polite. He stands at parade rest with his hands loose at his sides and his face has gone blank as new canvas. Percival has almost never called Seraphina Picquery ‘Madame President’ to her face, he refuses- has always refused- to play grasping political games, and honestly the worst part of everything that’s happened over the last few months is the icy stone of betrayal that sits between himself and Picquery where friendship used to be. He has been told that he is particularly alarming when he gets like this, it even gives Picquery pause, and she leans back into her seat for a moment before leaning forward over steepled fingers.  

“You heard me, you really must stop fraternizing with a law-breaking, insane, foreigner. It’s not helping anything…”

There are more words, but Percival can’t hear them over the ringing in his own ears. This is the last straw. He’s been mulling this over for months, his position at MACUSA as an Auror is secure on paper, but in practice it’s not nearly so simple. His Auror teams don’t trust him, they still respect him, but it’s the bare minimum required. Picquery hasn’t done anything to back him up, too concerned about MACUSA’s shredded reputation on the international stage to worry about interagency cooperation. The proposed changes to training have been met with harsh bureaucratic backlash at every turn, even though the changes clearly need to be made. There’s been talk of having him take a ‘vacation’ to ‘recover’ when he gets too fussy about how slowly things are moving. Almost every witch and wizard in the building has either underhandedly or openly questioned his loyalty and allegiance since he returned to work. Percival Graves is a patient man, he put up with a lot of damn crap to get where he is, but this is too much.

“Excuse me. Madame President.” Percival bites out loudly, his voice bitter and biting like frost, cutting off whatever political drivel Picquery was spewing and not caring one bit.

“Let me remind you that MACUSA’s reputation on the international stage has everything to do with the fact that a mass murderer and serial killer, the worst Dark Wizard for quite some time, a universally feared and hunted criminal was able to infiltrate our agency into the highest circle of power. Gellert Grindelwald overpowered me, stuffed me in a cellar and used polyjuice potion to impersonate me for five full months and not one Auror in this building thought to ask any questions. The only reason that Grindlewald was stopped was because of that so called ‘law-breaking insane foreigner’ Madame President, a man you acknowledged in front of an international audience as owing a debt to. A man without whom we would be dealing with an even greater threat. Without Newt Scamander, the existence of the Magical world would be common no-maj knowledge and we would be dealing with global mass hysteria. MACUSA’s reputation is in tatters because without Newt Scamander every wizard and witch the world over would be being hunted this very moment.

 “Let me remind you that I have been lobbying for changes to the Auror training protocols of MACUSA since before I got this position, warning that that sort of breach was a CREDIBLE THREAT and nobody cared to listen to me or attempt to implement those changes until after I spent said five months in captivity under a madman.

“MACUSA’s reputation is in jeopardy because you authorized the execution of one of our own Aurors and a foreign citizen WITHOUT DUE PROCESS for charges not recognized under our laws.” He stopped, growling with anger as he drew breath, holding in his ire as he glared down at Picquery who looked like she just now remembered how formidable a wizard he actually was.

“You have not supported my return to this office, even after it was proven we have a large breach in security and a significant weakness, you’ve been dragging your heels approving the changes you promised me you would make. You’ve let every Auror in this building perpetuate insubordination against me.”  

His face was thunderous now. There was no helping it. Picquery was pale and silent under his clearly furious, yet still polite and formal words. The look on her face told him she knew what was coming.

“Consider this my formal resignation from MACUSA, I wish you luck in finding a replacement. Good day Madame President.” He said, removing his badge from the pocket of his trousers and lobbing it gently onto Seraphina’s desk. He kept his back straight and he gave her no chance to reply as he walked out of her office, down the hall to the nearest fireplace. He flooed home and immediately disconnected his hearth from the network. The wards on his home prevented anyone without permission from apparating inside, and even those who did would sound an alarm. He was a bit paranoid after his recent experiences. He started packing immediately, pulling the letter he’d written to Theseus weeks ago but never sent out of his writing desk and casting the post-pal charm the two of them had worked out on it. It fluttered at the edges in his hand for a moment before folding itself into a neat square and disappearing in a puff of bright purple smoke.

Less than ten minutes later a reply letter appeared in a shimmering turquoise puff of smoke on his writing table. He smiled when he opened it. Theseus had only written five words in reply, though his post script was slightly longer.

_As long as you’d like._

_P.S. It’s about time you idiot! I’ve been wanting you to visit for blimey ages!_

~~**~~**~~

He was almost ready to leave, his affairs were pretty easy to clear up of course. Congress wanted the burr off their backsides as fast as possible. Tina Goldstein had shown up the day after his resignation trying to dissuade him, a day later a few of the more clear-headed Aurors who weren’t too disrespectful showed up, but really the attempts were feeble at best. Honestly the way MACUSA had treated Tina, he wouldn’t be surprised if she and Queenie emigrated to England after a fashion, if that happened he’d be even LESS surprised if a certain baker decided to do the same.

Newt Scamander rapped frantically on his door. When Percy answered it, the first words out of his mouth were a jumbled littany that barely made any sense.

“Tina just told me you’d resigned from MACUSA and then Theseus sends me a letter that says you’re going to visit and stay with him a while and he’s probably going to set you up with a consulting Auror’s permit and that you’ll likely be a popular choice because of all that mess with Grindlewald and then well this is just all so confusing, but I had to come and see you and I hope this isn’t a bad time but…” He trailed off and took a deep gasping breath of air. Percy let him get his bearings and his breath back before he stepped back and opened the door wide enough for Newt to enter.

"Would you like to come in for some coffee? Or tea, if you prefer?" he asks, keeping his voice gentle and matter of fact, Newt has this very annoying habit of working himself into a frenzy, and he’s very visibly in a fine state already. He’s sweating and trembling all over, green at the corners of his mouth, swallowing convulsively and fast like his body is really trying to vomit but he won’t allow it the luxury, his face is pinched in hard like he’s been crying but his face is dry and there aren’t any signs of tears. He says yes, but it looks like he wishes it was a no. He comes inside anyway.

A casual out of sight flick of Percy’s wand sets the kettle on to boil and assembles a plate of the last of his cookies and fruit as Newt makes his way stiffly to the couch. He balances himself very precariously on the barest edge of the cushion like he’s afraid Percy’s hexed the furniture to eat people. The shaking is only getting worse by the second and all of a sudden Newt’s ragged shallow breathing kicks it into high gear and it doesn’t take very long before he full on hyperventilates.

“Shit! Newt, you’ve got to slow down your breathing. Newt, you’re safe here I promise. Can you hear me Newt? You have to try and slow your breathing down.” Percy keeps up a steady stream of calm, matter of fact dialogue. He keeps well away from the couch and makes sure he stays in line of sight, hands and wand visible at all times as he talks. The words are a slow, steady marching beat, easy to focus on, quiet and gentle. Percy cuts the heat to the kettle before it can shriek with a minute movement of his wand hand so he doesn’t give poor Newt a heart attack and starts brewing tea as he keeps talking. Gradually Newt starts to come up out of his panicked daze, his eyes start to try and focus and track things, they’re less glassy, but Newt still looks horrid. Percy doesn’t dare approach or stop talking.

 “You’re having a panic attack, but you’re safe. Please try to calm down, Newt.” Ah, there he is, Percy can see awareness lurking just below the surface of the hazy panic and so he injects a lot more command into the last word of his sentence, though he doesn’t raise his voice at all. It snaps Newt back to the present like a whip.

“ _Breathe_.”

Newt startles and gasps, his hands clenching and unclenching like claws in rapid spasms for a few moments. Percy approaches Newt and kneels down in front of him, giving him the height advantage again. Another great heaving gasp of air, and Percy can see recognition in Newt’s face now, he watches the man wrestle his body for control, forcing his hands to rest either side of his body on the couch cushion as he stares down at Percy in shock. Percy gives him a moment before he speaks again, regret and shame and sorrow warring with each other inside of him. He is looking at a man at war with himself. It is a familiar sight, one he has seen in the mirror quite a lot lately. He somehow made everything worse for Newt and he’s not sure how so he can’t even fix it. He takes a deep breath and apologizes.

"I'm sorry, Newt. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I certainly didn't mean to make you panic so much." Bless him, Newt looks even more pained and confused than before at those words. Percy beckons the waiting cup of tea and it floats gently into Newt’s reach, his hands are shaking so badly he can hardly grip the cup.                       

“Newt, may I…?” The question is as gentle and calm as Percy can make it. Newt nods, so he brings his hands up slowly giving Newt plenty of time to see him coming and carefully supports the trembling fingers as he lifts the cup to his mouth. Even with the gentle pressure, Newt still flinches as soon as their fingers touch. Percy feels his heart break a little, he wants to cry, but that will not help anything, he can cry later. Right now Newt needs a calm, gentle presence to help soothe him back down from his panic, the panic is still lurking just under Newt’s twitching, trembling, pale skin. It’s in every line of his body, he needs calm, and Percy is the only one here to give it to him right now.

When Newt’s drunk enough of the tea that the trembling is beginning to die down a little and the color starts to return to his face, Percy sends it sailing back to the kitchen. He keeps his hold on the cold clammy shaking fingers lose enough for Newt to pull away from him if he doesn’t want the contact, but firm enough for Newt to feel the support he is offering.

“Do you want to go?” Percy asks gently, softly squeezing slightly on Newt’s fingers, but Newt’s shaking his head before he even finishes asking the question. There’s a tiny flare of hope stirring in Percy’s chest as he looks up at Newt, careful not to stare at him, to keep his head angled just that little bit. He’s mirroring how Newt often looks at other people in hopes that it helps buffer the panic Newt’s feeling, and it seems to be working at least a little. If Newt doesn’t want to go, and he’s calm enough to answer questions, Percy can hopefully narrow down what triggered this panic attack.

“Was it because I asked you to come in?” He queries, keeping his voice steady and soft and even, it would make sense. Much of Newt’s time is spent out of doors chasing all manner of wild creatures hither and yon. But Newt shakes his head no again, so he’s not afraid to be indoors.

“Was it because of me? You flinched when I-”

“No!” Newt cries, the word a near shout. Okay, that’s good, Percy can work with that.

“Good. Because I really want to hug you right now, Newt.” He says, keeping his voice light and airy as a summer breeze in upstate New York. He squeezes Newt’s hands again and this time they squeeze back just the slightest, slightest bit. But then the trembling increases and there are tears shivering in the corners of Newts eyes as he gasps. The next words out of Newt’s mouth make Percy’s blood run cold for just a moment.

“Just a hug,” the words are shaky and high pitched with anxiety and raw with longing and they _hurt_ in a way that Percy can’t really describe as Newt continues. “Just a _hug_ , please. No…no more.”  And galloping gryphons that pleading little no more makes Percy’ blood absolutely **boil** with rage at whomever hurt Newt, but now is not the time to express that rage, Newt needs support and badly.

 He stands slowly, keeping Newt’s hands in his so that Newt can track every single moment of the movement. Gently, with extreme care, he sits on the couch, resting his weight fully into the plush back and deep seat of the leather. He makes sure he is comfortable before he reaches for Newt and tugs him gently, securely under his arm and against his chest. He can feel the warm prickle of unshed tears and the panting wafts of Newt’s gasping breath, but Newt doesn’t pull away. Percy wraps the arm Newt’s tucked under secure against Newt’s chest, shifting so that he’s holding one of Newt’s hands over Newt’s rapidly galloping heart. His other arm holds firm against Newt’s side, he can feel each jagged shuddering breath Newt takes. This way he can comfort and monitor Newt, he will know the instant anything changes, if Newt panics again, he’ll be able to sense it. Newt will also be able to feel Percy’s breathing and heartbeat, hopefully that will be some comfort and help to the younger man.

 Percy doesn’t find it at all difficult to keep his voice low and gentle as he replies, even if he really wants to punch something or scream or sob for the obvious pain and fear someone inflicted. Percy’s voice is barely audible when he says

“Of course, Newt.” The shaking intensifies as Newt chokes on more words for a moment, the panic bubbling close to the surface again, thankfully not breaking free as Percy keeps a steadying hand on Newt’s side and increases the pressure he’s holding Newt with. The tears start making a slightly bigger warm, wet spot on Percy’s shirt as Newt gasps,

"And if... If I don't want anything more? Would you... Would you still...?"  He can’t get any more words out after that though, his body is wracked with great, heaving sobs. Percy tightens his hold once again and lets Newt cry. This storm is not just panic and fear- this is grief, these are the cries of a man in great pain, these are tears of loss and shame and bone deep sorrow. These are the whimpers of a boy who just wanted understanding, this is the agony of a teen yearning for safety, this is the weeping of a man desperate for affection, the release that can only break when a person realizes they are safe. A cathartic maelstrom of tears too long in coming. Percy holds him through the agonizing minutes where things are so intense that all the breath Newt has in his body is spent wailing into Percy’s chest. He keeps steady and quiet, rubbing small slow circles over Newt’s ribs and back as he makes soothing noises every now and again. Percy’s never understood the ‘suck it up, be a man’ nonsense and saying that would be useless and damaging, these are the sorts of tears one is incapable of ‘sucking up.’ So he doesn’t tell Newt not to cry, he doesn’t speak at all until the worst of the storm has passed. Not once does he loosen his hold, he doesn’t attempt to distract Newt from the feelings cascading over him. Percy just holds on tight, an anchor reminding Newt of where he is, reassuring him that he is not alone.

When the wracking sobs reduce to heavy tears, Percy conjures a handkerchief and sets it on his knee before he speaks.

"A hug is more than enough, Newt. For _me,_ you're more than enough." With those words he presses the handkerchief into Newt’s hand, falls quiet again and lets him cry. When Newt starts to shiver, He summons the quilt from the chair in the corner and tucks it around Newt and himself. When the tears finally dry up a long while later, the tea service and the plate of nibbles floats in from the kitchen. Newt’s clutching the front of his shirt, and Percy’s not inclined to move him before he’s ready, he’s clearly embarrassed and trying to hide. Percy lets him, loosening his hold to something a little less crushing, but no less supportive as he reaches for his cup of tea and an apple slice from the plate. He eats the apple slice and drinks half his tea in silence before he speaks again.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, Newt. You clearly needed that, I’m not upset. Any time you’re ready to stop hiding, there’s tea and a snack here for you.” He stays calm and quiet, willing to wait and see what it is that Newt most needs right now. Eventually his patience and calm are rewarded and Newt’s head pops up from where it was mostly hidden between Percy’s chest and the blanket. He’s cried out, face swollen and read with the tears, breath still hitching and skittering, but much calmer than before. The teacup that’s been waiting for him floats over and Percy is pleased to see that Newt’s hands are steady on the ceramic this time. Newt downs nearly half the tea in one gulp before peeking over at Percy with one eye. Percy smiles at him a little, patting him on the shoulder.

“It’s all right Newt, I’m not mad and I’m not going anywhere. Finish your tea. Do you want some water?” Percy asks calmly, grinning when Newt nods shyly.

“I’ll bet, you must be thirsty.” Percy murmurs. He keeps an arm around Newt as he drinks a glass of water and nibbles at a cracker, slowly relaxing as he realizes that Percy truly isn’t upset by recent developments at all. Wrung out from his crying jag, he eventually slumps back down into the couch against Percy’s side with a sigh, falling into a light doze, neither quite awake nor quite asleep. Percy keeps his arms securely around Newt in a comforting embrace.

They stay on the couch wrapped in the blanket for a long while as the sunlight fades from the window and the glow of the city lamps begins to wash over them. Two friends basking in the comfort of a safe, kind embrace. Broken in their own ways but starting to mend together.        


	2. Before the Fantastic Friendship....Awkward Penpals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theseus Scamander knows how to make friends, he's popular with the quidditch crowd, he can navigate the complicated politics of House rivalry and acquaintance with the best of them....his mother is not so convinced. 
> 
> So she gets him a pen pal...a pen pal from the United States...a pen pal with whom he will one day be associated in business if their parents have anything to do with it. One Percival Graves...it's amazing how awkward childhood pen pal letters can bloom into a Fantastic Friendship, but against all odds, that's what happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't ask why this took so long. Okay Darlings? 
> 
> :D

When Mother had told him about this silly scheme she and Mrs. Scamander had cooked up a few days ago, he thought he would have some more time to get used to the idea. Apparently not, as there was a letter in Mother’s hand. Percy wanted to laugh. She was so concerned about him making friends that she’d gone behind his back and gotten him one from ENGLAND of all places! He hoped the kid wasn’t too stiff and stuffy, but he didn't have a lot of hope. Percy retreated to his room to read the letter in privacy. The handwriting was a strange mix of neat and scratchy, slanted and slapdash in some places and carefully executed in others. There was a tiny note in light colored ink in the corner of the page in the top margin that simply read ‘ _revelio_ ’ Percy grinned. He wasn’t too adept at wandless charms yet, but the Revelio charm was a simple one and he was able to get it right: as soon as the incantation finished the letter bloomed another set of paragraphs in a much different style interspersed with the stiff and formal language. Percy snickered and settled down to read.

****

**_Master Percival Graves,_ **

**_Greetings,_ **

**_From Theseus Scamander_ **

**_Mother says that is the best way to start a letter to a new wizard you hope will be your friend._ **

_I am not so certain. This style of letter seems entirely too formal for such an endeavor. However, I hope we will be friends one day and not just pen-pals for this project. I do hope you know the revelio charm or this letter is going to sound entirely stilted and stiff. Mother proofread this. Here's hoping that such practice doesn’t continue very long. Hiding my real letter was annoying._

**_Mother says that Father and your Father were good friends and business partners, but they were business partners first and friends later. Mother and your Mother are also friends it seems, and they want me to write you so that we can be friends first. I hope this isn’t too strange and unseemly, forgive me if this letter is a surprise but Mother says that your Mother will have made you aware of this correspondence._ **

_Bugger, I hope so, otherwise it’s unlikely we WILL be friends!_

**_I am told that international post doesn’t use owls, I do hope this letter arrives in one piece._ **

**_I know almost nothing about you Master Percival, and I can only assume that you know about as much of myself._ **

_Goodness, she makes me sound like I’m Grandfather Scamander with this letter! I’m not I promise. I’m in school like you are, I’m in Gryffindor house, I’m trying out for the quidditch team Captain this coming term, and I have a younger brother Newt. His given name is Newton, but everyone calls him Newt. He’s in Hufflepuff, and he is two years younger than me. Do you have any siblings? I hear tell you don’t get to take your wands home during break! That must be bugger when you want to practice, we get to take ours home and practice charms and spells with Mother during holiday and at end of term. What do you like to do? I enjoy quidditch, but I think I want to become an auror when I am older. Mother of course wants me to go into business right away…but I hate it and I know Mother will run the business forever. I want adventure before I have to think about business and accounting and trade and all of that._

**_I am in Gryffindor House and enjoy quidditch. My best subjects in school are charms, potions, and defense against the dark arts._ **

_This sounds so awful, please forgive my Mother’s dreadful proofreading skills, she seems to think I need to write you some sort of report. If this nonsense doesn’t stop within the first few letters, and we like each other enough to continue writing, we will need to figure out some way of getting around the meddling. I’m afraid Mother is a dreadful snoop. I do hope your Mother is more reasonable than my own and she will allow you to write a reply in peace. I say, do be careful when you write your reply, I have no doubt my Mother will wish to read your letter. She means well, I promise she does mean well. She thinks I can’t make friends. I’m the second most popular Gryffindor and have made friends among three houses and acquaintances with people in all four houses. Whatever is said of the feud between Gryffindor and Slytherin not every student in Slytherin is a bad person. Yet Mother insists I cannot make friends. I believe she means the kinds of friends she approves of, but I’m not Father and I’m not Mother, and the children she wants me to buddy up with hate Newton in principle._

_Sometimes I wish I could thrash people who say cruel things. Newt doesn’t really understand people so well, animals are another story, animals he understands._

**_I have a younger brother Newton in Hufflepuff House._ **

_Really if Mother had her way, that would be everything that was said about Newt, but as I am his older brother and I am allowed to embarrass him and it is my duty to protect him and we are to be friendly you and I, if not friends, I would tell you about him. Mother was upset I think that he was sorted into Hufflepuff House, since most of our family have been Gryffindor for generations. How do Houses work in America? Do tell me when you write back._

**_What is school like in America? Do you play quidditch?_ **

_Dear me she makes me sound like a dried up businessman far older than myself. I’m surprised I was able to put my foot down and not include business prospects. I sincerely hope you are adept enough at wandless magic to read my true letter, and if not that you are a decent enough sort to answer this stilted bit of junk like a proper person. In any case I cut Mother off about there, she wanted my missive to be several sheets of parchment long, but I dissuaded her._

**_I look forward to your reply and bid you farewell for now,_ **

****

**_Sincerely,_ **

_**Theseus Scamander**_

_P.S. I really hope you can use the revelio charm. We should come up with an alternate post method if we enjoy each other’s letters enough. Good luck chap._

_Theseus._

Percy howled with laughter, it was an awkward letter, but Theseus was a funny lad. Percy moved over to his desk and picked up a fresh sheet of parchment to write back. If Theseus’s mother really did hover like that, they would have to figure something else out, there was also the little problem of writing post while he was in school. People in his dorm could be such snoops, nothing was safe for long, and he had a feeling that Theseus was a person he wasn’t going to want to share with the entire dorm. Still chuckling, he set quill to parchment and began to write.


	3. Percy's first Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy writes back...

**_To Master Theseus Scamander,_ **

**_Greetings_ **

**_I’m not quite sure exactly how formal this letter is going to be, if we are truly meant to be friends and pen pals, then business formality is certainly not required. I will attempt to do my best to reply in kind to your opening letter and hope that any informal language does not upset or offend you._ **

_Ugh, I can see why you decided to add a few of your own thoughts to your letter. Fear not, I am getting quite adept at the simple wandless magics and was able to read your real letter. Ilvermorny doesn’t allow us to take our wands home until we are 16, sometimes later than that depending on our level of skill. If I hear the words ‘wands are a privilege not a right’ one more time I may go stark raving mad, I can repeat those words in my sleep in a parody of nearly every instructors voice. I want to be an auror when I graduate as well, so we have that goal in common. I feel we may be able to get along quite nicely and I am looking forward to getting to know you Theseus. I will try and make my face letter long enough to appease your Mother, here’s hoping you can wrench it away from her and read it yourself somewhere private._

_My Mother is letting me write to you pretty much on my own, she’s rather lenient about this kind of thing, the state of my room or my grades on the other hand will have her on the verge of catastrophic rage, so it all works out in the end I suppose._

**_Our fathers were indeed good friends and business partners, though international trade from Europe for certain goods has dwindled somewhat in popularity in the last few years. I don’t pay much attention to the specifics as Mother has everything well managed and she will run things for a long while yet._ **

_To answer your other question, yes we have quidditch though I am not on the team, you need to be a crack hand at managing a broomstick and while I am decent at flying, I’m not nearly good enough to be on our team. We have quite an amazing keeper- Johnson’s already been scouted for the International pool, compared to his broom work I’m terrible. I think I will much prefer apparition anyway, I’ve already done some side-along apparition with a few of my Uncles (don’t tell Mother, she’s terrified I’m going to splinch myself six ways to Sunday or end up in a wall or some such nonsense so she didn’t want my Uncles to show me. They did anyway because they are awesome.)_

**_Your letter arrived safely, international post would be highly impractical if we expected poor owls to wing it across the oceans! They’d drop dead from exhaustion, surely._ **

**_Ilvermorny’s classes work a little differently than those at Hogwarts. We are not allowed our wands at home until we are 16 or 17 depending on our grades if we attend Ilvermorny. Home-schooled children have an advantage there, they get to practice the practical wand based magic earlier and more often: I got to observe some of the proficiency testing for the home-schoolers at 5 th grade level last term, and some of the kids made me jealous with how well they could already cast. I am doing well in classes and my best subjects this year are global magical studies, arithmancy, and intermediate magical languages. I have the top grade in intermediate magical languages and am already considering how I want to integrate languages into my career. _ **

**_We play quidditch here though I am not on the quidditch team, we have very talented fliers on our teams already being scouted for the International divisions and I am not nearly so good. I do attend a few clubs and am in our music department. I play violin._ **

_I think House structure works very differently in America than it does over your way Theseus, from your letter it seems as though the Houses at Hogwarts fight and compete and hold grudges against one another. Almost as if you can really only be friends with people from your own House, or that people are more wary of you if you try to cross House boundaries. Ilvermorny doesn’t operate that way at all. Houses here are much more loosely held together, it’s more a way to sort who goes to what activity when and where, and to make the housing situation easier for the instructors to organize. Not that we don’t have competitions and little rivalries and quidditch competitions and such, because we do. Nobody would think twice about me having a friend from the Horned Serpent House…or any House at all really. I do have friends from all four Houses, and we get along just fine. How are you sorted into your Houses, do you have a statue hall like ours? Or something different?_

_I’m in Pukwudgie. Our Houses are Horned Serpent, Thunderbird, Wampus, and Pukwudgie. Those are some of the native magical creatures in North America, according to our global magical studies class, the four Houses in Hogwarts are named for the founders of the school, and Hogwarts is one of the oldest formal magical schools in Europe._

**_I am an only child, so I feel it must be wonderful to have a brother._ **

_Do people bully Newton? It seemed that way from what you wrote, I am sorry to hear of it if that is the case. People can be awful to one another and even being popular doesn’t stop the idiots sometimes. I hope Newton is okay and that he has friends to turn to. I understand wanting to ‘thrash’ people for being stupid, I’ve done it a few times when the older kids won’t let up on some of the younger ones. I think that’s what has my Mother concerned, the notes and reports of “fighting” from the instructors. Mostly I don’t get into fights, but I do stand up for the kids who are getting harassed._

_What did you mean that you’re not like your Mother and Father? Do they not defend him because he was sorted into Hufflepuff? That seems a rather stupid reason to be ignoring a problem. I’m sorry if that offends you, but you were honest with me so I felt I should be honest back. You can tell me if I overstep or am being an ass or whatever._

**_I enjoyed your letter and hope you will respond to my letter soon,_ **

**_Sincerely,_ **

**_Percival Graves._ **

_P.S. I have a feeling we’re going to have fun together, let me know how your Mother likes my letter Theseus. We will have to work something out for private communication in the future._

_Percival._

Theseus was having a difficult time keeping a straight face as his Mother read Percival’s reply aloud in the study. The mix of affronted surprise and anger on her face would be comical if he wasn’t so frustrated and impatient to hare off to his room and see if Percival Graves had found his actual letter or not. At least Mother was impressed with the amount he wrote even if his ‘American informality’ scandalized her. Theseus could just see the top of Newt’s curly mop peeking out from the edge of the doorframe, he sighed again. Newt was old enough to have his own pen pal, but so far Mother had not arranged anything of the sort for him. Typical Mother, all about appearances and society, still acting like Newt had done something wrong to be sorted into Hufflepuff. He hadn’t done anything wrong in the least and yet everyone in the family was upset and disappointed in him.


End file.
